Her
by NerdiePie
Summary: D... Dad. Jim's back. He went mad, over the top, but he's back. He's still alive. I miss you. It's now I think I really need a shoulder to cry on. I really miss you, Dad.
1. Chapter 1

"This is it." I open the door. Just a medium sized room, holding just a bed, a wardrobe and a desk.

"Thanks," he limps into the room and lays his suitcase on the bed. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"I know, John. I just couldn't let you stay alone." I whisper.

It's been a month since the fall. John's been in a terrible shape, unable to do anything but mourn. He's got a job at St. Bart's, which he's starting later this month. Poor him. I've never seen him this bad, not even when his friend Arthur got killed in Afghanistan. He was bad then, but this, this is at a whole new level.

"Lara," he shouts from the room, "Can you connect me to the wireless?" Laptop's on already. Typical. I walk in and type in the password. "Thanks. I'm doing a blog post. I guess I really should get back into that."

"You can just talk to me if you want."

"That's different."

"I guess. I'll leave you to it, then. I'll be in the living room if you want me." He smiles at me. I plod down the stairs, and sit down onto the couch. The TV goes straight on.

"It has been a month now since the fall. The Reichenbach hero was exposed as a fake and committed suicide, by jumping from the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital in London.

"As most people now know, in January of this year, James Moriarty broke into the Tower of London, the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison. The court case proved him not guilty, letting him out of custardy. Only, a week later, he revealed in a news article how he was an actor named Richard Brook. Sherlock Holmes, his secret out, decided-" My phone interrupts the programme.

_Good show, eh? Surprised you haven't turned over yet. SM_

Sebastian. I sigh. Why is he watching me again? I glance around the room before replying.

_Where's the camera? LS_

_Nowhere. I'm across the street. SM_

I glance over to the window opposite, seeing a smiling Sebby with his sniper. I wave sarcastically, and go back to my TV.

_Why is Watson in your flat? Never knew you two were together. SM_

_We're not. He's a mate. He needed a place to stay, that's all. LS_

_Yeah, sure. SM_

_It's not like you and Jim didn't have a thing, anyway. LS_

_Anyway, we need to talk. Properly. Face to face. Jim had something he wanted me to pass on. I'll meet you at Speedy's. SM_

_Are you asking me out? LS_

_No. It's family business. But John needn't know that. SM_

Charming._ Friday, one o' clock. LS _

_See you there. SM_

* * *

><p>"John, I'm going out." I shout. It echoes up the stairs.<p>

"Okay. Get some milk on the way back, please. I think we're out."

"Sure. See you later."

The door slams behind me. I walk into the rain. It's pouring. I don't like rain. It reminds me too much of tears, tears of the soldiers dying in my arms. I can stand it for now, but I'm sure one day I will go insane.

The droplets fall relentlessly on window of the taxi. I wish it would just stop.

I reach Baker Street, finally. One step from the cab, into the sheets of rain. A little run dance gets me to the door. Seb's sat in the corner; I sit down opposite him. He's got an iPad. I really shouldn't be puzzled, but I am. This isn't like Seb.

"What did you want? You said Jim wanted you to pass something on."

"Yeah. He wanted me to show you this." He unlocks the iPad, and it shows a picture. It's a hand, in the shape of a gun, like we did when we were kids. It's slightly splattered with blood, but it's obviously his. My eyes widen. No. No way. He... He couldn't. "What?" I can hear Seb, but he's almost blanked out. This couldn't have happened. No. He-he hadn't told Seb, obviously. He didn't have a clue.

"When Jim and I were kids, we played cowboys and cowgirls a lot."

"Is that it? What a last message. 'Let's play cowboys again!'" He says sarcastically.

"No, there's more. We had shootouts, with imaginary people and gun hands, like this. Imaginary shot, one of us went down, but... But held up their gun like this. It meant... they're..." My voice fails me. Tears are prickling my eyes.

Again, I get interrupted. It sounds like a ringtone, from behind me. How ironic. It had to be the Beegees...

"Staying alive." The owner of the phone behind me whispers. Tears are streaming now, dripping onto the screen. My eyes are closed.

"It's... It's been a month. Not a whisper. Why now?" I splutter.

"It's finally safe. The hysteria has calmed down. I will watch from the shadows." He says, with that little familiar Irish tint. My brother.

Seb seems equally mystified. He's back, from the dead. _He_'s back.

"I have just one, small favour to ask of you, Lara." He spins his chair to sit next to me. "Don't tell Watson. Not a word. Please." Something's wrong. He never says please. Never. Not to me, not to anyone. "It's for the best."

"I... I won't." I hold his hand. "Promise."

"One more thing. Why don't you use the family name?" He asks softly. "Last time I checked, it was Moriarty, not Smith."

"It... It's too conspicuous. The name's got a bad reputation. I'm not like you. You know that."

A small look of sadness graces his face. "I know. You never were. I didn't think you'd stop using the name, though, because of me."

"But you don't really think about me. You just don't. You don't think of other people." I smile, through the tears. "But that's just you, Jim. Don't change." He shares my smile. "I... I have to go. I said I would buy some milk. Bye. I... I will see you soon. We'll have to talk for longer next time."

"Yes." Seb says. He looks a little left out. I feel sorry for him. It mustn't be fun, being Jim's lapdog.

I walk back into the rain. Collect the milk, go home. Collect the milk, go home. That's it. But I can't resist the urge to go to the graveyard. Trust me to do that.

I have to find Dad. His grave is around here, somewhere... By the bandstand, I think. A bit grim, having a bandstand in the graveyard. I find him quickly. The rain is getting even heavier. I'm soaked to the bone. My makeup's all run. The raindrops mix with my tears.

"D... Dad. Jim's back. He went mad, over the top, but he's back. He's still alive. I miss you. It's now I think I really need a shoulder to cry on. I really miss you, Dad."

I walk on. I know I have to get home, it's pouring, but another grave catches my eye. It's further down. Sherlock Holmes. The tears are getting worse. I don't think you can tell.

"I never actually met you, but it's only now I wished I had. John speaks so highly of you, all the time. He still remembers everything; how you like your tea, how early you got up, what a mess you made. He won't get over it. But I believe in you. You're not dead. If Jim's not, neither are you. Come back. Please. For John's sake."

* * *

><p>I get home around three. John seems none the wiser.<p>

"I have the milk." I shout.

"God, are you okay? You must be freezing!" He says as soon as he sees me.

"Nah, I'm fine. I'll have a shower, and then I'll do some baking, I think. Gingerbread men."

I have more chance to think in the shower.

Jim and I are twins. Mum and Dad couldn't afford to have two kids, so they put Jim up for adoption. He got adopted pretty quickly, by an Irish couple. They were friends of ours, and he came over in the holidays. But when we were about 10, his foster parents decided they'd had enough of him. Mum and Dad had enough money to sustain two kids, so he stayed with us.

We were the best of friends for a while, but then he... He killed someone. He was only 15. He was never found out. Lucky. He told me, and I almost died inside. I thought he was nice, and I had a good twin, but no. There's always an angel and a devil. None of us wanted him anymore, so he left. At midnight, on the eve before our 16th birthday, he ran away. He took money with hm. He hitchhiked to Ireland, found his old foster parents, played up to them. He stayed there. He only ever told me he'd ran away, and where he went.

We'd only met up once after that. He came to visit me, when he moved back to England. I had bought a new flat, which was near his. He came solely to parade his pet, Seb, around. I despised him, but I had to love him. I had to.

He's my twin, after all.

"You don't look so good. Are you sure you're okay?" John says. We're baking gingerbread men. The rain's still going. I stare out into the ongoing storm.

"Y...Yes. I met an old family friend. He just reminded me of my Dad, that's all."

"Ah." He says. We don't speak again, after that.

The gingerbread men cook, brown nicely. Decorating them is the fun part. I bought some special decorations, writing icing and little edible flowers. Some with blonde hair and green eyes, some with brown hair and blue eyes. Some have pretty pink dresses, some have purple shirts. They taste quite nice. I take a picture of them. One or two of them came out burned. I kept those to one side.

We sit in front of the telly, gingerbread men to hand. There's nothing on. We flick through films, dramas and documentaries, and there's nothing. It's all lovey-dovey. Stupid Valentine's. John see that, and decides to go upstairs.

Alone, I get to thinking. If Jim survived, so did Sherlock. How Jim survived is obvious, but Sherlock is a whole other story. He jumped off a multiple-story building and survived. I need to talk to John about it. But, no doubt, he's still out there.

Because he isn't a fake. My brother was real.

**I believe in Sherlock.**


	2. Rewritten, sorry!

**Sorry guys, this story is being re-written. I just wasn't happy with it, and I thought it needed a bit more. Still sorry, love you guys.**

**The re-write is called Stars, and you can find it at my profile. Love you guys:)**

_**NerdiePie xx**_


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